My mother sits in grass and sun
an enamel pan beside her
she holds a metal pitcher
tilted water spilling out
as I balance on my chubby legs
I am bent over just enough to see
how sun glints off aluminum
to feel cold water splash on ankles
dribble down to feet and toes
I try to reach and guide her hand
Her left arm holds the metal pitcher
muscles clear and well defined
veins just visible down to where
her wrist turns in around the handle
my little fingers grasp her there
I hold her but am focused on
the way the battered pitcher turns
to spill the first time in my life
to see clear water roll around a pan
everything I know of water
the pooling on the shower tile
the flowing round the rocks in Eastern coves
started then the water
reflecting back on mother’s face
everything I know of water
passed in this moment to this stubby boy
intent on turning the pitcher down
lower just a little lower
to see what happens next
©2016 Frank
Kearns
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